


rapture in the dark

by rarepairenabler



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Seven Minutes In Heaven, but especially Kindaichi and Kyoutani, in which everyone has a crush on Iwaizumi, seijou shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:49:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7550269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rarepairenabler/pseuds/rarepairenabler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well I’m <i>better</i>,” Kyoutani insists out of stubbornness. </p><p>It’s a bluff, and really transparent one at that. His only experience with kissing so far’s been the embarrassing pecks on the cheek from his parents, but Iwaizumi really doesn’t need to know that. </p><p>“Oh.” It takes a moment for Kyoutani’s words to register. The air between them turns charged, electricity rippling through the room as Iwaizumi shifts forward, causing their arms to brush. Kyoutani’s skin prickles with goosebumps when he feels Iwaizumi’s warm breath against the shell of his ear. “Yeah, s’that so? You<i> still</i> feel like you’ve got somethin’ to prove, huh?” </p><p>OR the fic in which practically everyone has a crush on Seijou's ace, but especially Kyoutani</p>
            </blockquote>





	rapture in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> sideships:
> 
> \- Matsukawa/Kunimi  
> \- Matsukawa/Hanamaki (implied)  
> \- Matsukawa/Iwaizumi (implied)  
> \- Yahaba/Oikawa  
> \- Yahaba/Kindaichi  
> \- Iwaizumi/Kindaichi  
> \- honestly a few others? I'm a multishipping mess

It’s a warm night, the air dense with cloying heat. Kyoutani’s trying to get his rest but he can’t, because his loud-ass teammates won’t shut the hell up.

“ _So_ , how do we kick off this year’s training camp?” Hanamaki asks, clapping his hands together.

Matsukawa crosses his legs, and leans back on his arms, his palms pressing into the mattress of his futon. “King’s Cup?”

“Tch, with _soda_?” Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Lame.”

Hanamaki’s gaze sweeps the room. “C’mon, any other suggestions? Going once, going twice…”

“Truth or Dare!” Oikawa suggests, and it’s possible that Kyoutani knows right then with grim certainty that he can kiss any chance of shut-eye goodbye.

As the third years cheer, Kyoutani groans into his pillow. 

“Al _right_ , that’s what I’m talkin’ about. I like it,” Hanamaki says. He gestures to everyone else in the room. “Gather ‘round. That means the first and second years, too!”

Kunimi, Kindaichi, Yahaba and Watari reluctantly join the third years in the center of the room. Kyoutani doesn’t budge.

“Mad Dog-chan.” Oikawa pouts. “This is a Seijou bonding tradition. Don’t you want to join us?”

Kyoutani sits up in his bed and glowers. “And risk being dared to kiss your ugly mug? Fuck no.”

For a moment, there’s silence, nothing but the shrill chirp of cicadas and then Matsukawa, Iwaizumi and Hanamaki all double over in laughter as Oikawa’s brow twitches. “Ah, leave him be, Tooru, Mad Dog doesn’t want his _deep, dark_ secrets exposed,” Matsukawa taunts. To Kyoutani, he says, “We dare you to tell us how many strays you’ve brought home with you.”

“Truth!” Hanamaki pipes up. “Who taught you how to draw your eyeliner so well, Kyou-chan?”

Kyoutani’s growing more and more pissed off by the second when Oikawa tugs at Iwaizumi’s loose fitting tank top and in that awful sugary voice that grates under Kyoutani's skin, “Iwa-chan! _Make_ Mad Dog-chan come play with us!”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and shakes off Oikawa’s grip. “Dumbass, he doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to.” He turns to Kyoutani, lips tugging in an apologetic smile as he rakes his fingers through his spiky hair. “You sure you wanna sit this one out?”

Distracted, Kyoutani’s eyes track the slight shift and flex of Iwaizumi’s biceps, his whole body turning warm as he watches with a dazed sort of fascination. It’s too fuckin’ hot in here, Kyoutani thinks as he itches at his skin. He’s weak, so fucking weak, because for the briefest of moments Kyoutani seriously considers joining in on their shenanigans, if only for the chance to gain Iwaizumi’s approval. It’s a bad idea, he _knows_ it’s a bad idea, and yet—

“Kyoutani?”

He shakes his head. “I—yeah, I’m _good_ ,” Kyoutani mutters with more bite than he intended. “Thanks.”

Iwaizumi’s brows lifts, his steely gaze curious as he studies Kyoutani’s face. Satisfied from what he sees there, Iwaizumi drops the subject with a casual shrug of his shoulders and then returns his attention to the rest of the group. Yahaba, who’s aware of Kyoutani’s pathetic one-sided crush, looks like he’s only barely holding back his laughter as he buries his face in the crook of his arm. _Bastard_.

“One day you’ll think, ‘Gee, I wish I spent more time getting to know my team, and my beloved captain, Oikawa-senpai!’” Oikawa declares, his face set in determination as he wags a finger at Kyoutani. “You’ll change your mind soon enough.”

 _Un-fucking-likely_ , Kyoutani thinks with a silent snarl.

Hanamaki hushes the room. “Okay, okay, everyone settle. It’s time to get this game started, yeah? Which brave soul volunteers to go first?”

The team unanimously volunteers Hanamaki, and so the typical Seijou shitstorm begins.

Kyoutani watches with a deep scowl as his teammates holler and jeer and whoop and make total asses of themselves. Hanamaki’s dared to wear a short skirt to tomorrow’s training practice; Oikawa’s forced to admit he’s never gotten past first base with any of his adoring fans, Yahaba confesses to having a dirty dream about one of his teammates (about _Oikawa_ , Kyoutani would bet. Gross), and Watari reveals he’d once accidentally stumbled across his dad’s stash of porn mags. And prompted by a dare ( _Hanamaki’s_ , to be exact), Kunimi crawls over to Matsukawa’s futon, his movements both languid and predatory. He cups Matsukawa’s face in his hands and kisses him, their lips pressing together in a deep and slow and filthy kiss while the rest of room erupts in wolf whistles, hitched breaths, flamed cheeks and leering grins.

Unthinkingly, Kyoutani’s eyes flicker across the room to Iwaizumi and that’s a mistake because now he’s imagining Iwaizumi’s lips pressed against his own, and Iwaizumi’s arms, strong and corded with muscle, wrapped firmly around Kyoutani’s waist. A tremor works its way down Kyoutani’s spine when he looks up from the bow of Iwaizumi’s lips and finds Iwaizumi staring back at him.

Oikawa’s complaining about the corruption of his innocent Kunimi-chan just as Matsukawa and Kunimi finally pull apart, their faces flushed and their lips a swollen shade of red.

For show, Matsukawa gives Kunimi’s bottom lip a parting nip, his own lips crooking in a smirk when he leans back again and inspects his work. “ _There_ , done,” he drawls, voice rougher than Kyoutani’s ever heard it. Matsukawa tilts his head and arches his thick brows in Hanamaki’s direction, his expression clearly saying: _is that really the best you can do?_ “Now whose turn?”

The game continues; Hanamaki whispers something in Iwaizumi’s ear, Kunimi takes his seat beside Yahaba, and Kindaichi’s turn’s announced (everyone groans when Kindaichi predictably chooses truth). Equally predictable is the furious knock at their door only an hour later when one of the teachers shows up and demands everyone go to bed immediately. The futons are separated again, the lights are turned off, and sleep-induced giggles bounce off the walls until something resembling quiet settles over the room, disturbed only by Kindaichi’s soft snores.

A second passes, a minute, an hour. Kyoutani’s still wide awake, even long after his teammates have fallen asleep—Yahaba no longer shifting and turning beside him, Matsukawa and Hanamaki no longer whispering to each other in low, hushed voices. Rather than sleep, he’s scowling up at the ceiling, his mind running wild with thoughts of _kissing_. Kyoutani couldn’t give less of a crap about Kunimi or Matsukawa, or whatever—even just thinking about kissing either of them makes Kyoutani’s expression sour.

It’s stupid, so stupid that he’s still fixating on it, it’s just that…kissing like that—heated and intimate—it looks nice. Like, _really_ nice. He shouldn’t be thinking about it, not when he’s in room filled with his teammates, but he can’t help it as arousal starts to coil low in the gut of his stomach, his cock swelling in his boxers. Kyoutani just _wants_. Wants Iwaizumi’s mouth on him, trailing rough, dizzying, kisses down his throat. Wants the press of Iwaizumi’s callused fingers digging into the thick muscles between the blades of Kyoutani’s shoulders. Wants Iwaizumi’s gaze focused on him, eyes hooded and pupils blown, Iwaizumi’s voice low and appraising, and Iwaizumi's breath warm against Kyoutani’s ear as he murmurs, “You’re doing _so_ good for me, Kentarou.”

Kyoutani wants it so damn bad he’s aching with it.

It’s only when Kindaichi snores again, loud enough to nearly jostle Kyoutani from his futon, that Kyoutani remembers himself again. Not trusting himself to keep from relieving the uncomfortable situation in his boxers, Kyoutani tucks his arms beneath his pits and rolls onto his stomach with a quiet grunt. _It’s fine_ , he assures himself, even as his heart thunders in his chest, his teeth sinking against the cushion of his lower lip as he turns over onto his back again—there’s still hope that he can get his dumb crush under control again and everything’ll be exactly like it was.

By the time exhaustion and sleep finally overtake him, Kyoutani half believes it.

~*~

The day’s only just started, but it’s quickly becoming clear that Kyoutani has fuck all under control.

All of Seijou’s gathered in the change room, the team’s locker room smelling of bad BO and body spray. Shirts fling across the room; lockers slam shut; shoes scuff against the tiled floors as they prepare for the second day of training camp. There’s something about this kind of chaos that always puts Kyoutani at ease, a chaotic sort of calm settling over him as he digs through his locker for his uniform.

Kyoutani’s good mood ends approximately the second Oikawa props a hand against Kunimi’s locker, and says, “Ah Kunimi-chan, how was the kiss?”

It’s not even Kyoutani that their captain’s addressing but Kyoutani instinctively stiffens anyway, his senses on high alert as Oikawa leans against the locker next to Kyoutani's and offers Kunimi a cheery, saccharine smile. “You and Matsukawa put on _quite_ a show yesterday,” Oikawa continues.

Kunimi stares back blankly at their captain, his face not giving anything away.

Before Oikawa has the chance to goad Kunimi into answering, Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and tugs Oikawa into a head vice. “Don’t mind Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi says as he grinds his knuckles down against the top of Oikawa’s head, “he’s just jealous.”

Oikawa squawks and tugs uselessly at Iwaizumi’s arm. “I’m not _jealous_! I can’t believe you’d such spread lies and slander about your own captain, Iwa-chan!”

Hanamaki snorts and adjusts his short skirt, the pink ruffles bouncing slightly with his movements. Where the hell could he have gotten one on such short notice, Kyoutani doesn’t want to know. As if bored by the conversation, Kunimi looks between his bickering elders before making his stealthy retreat. Kyoutani has half the mind to follow him.

Face red, Oikawa wrenches out of Iwaizumi’s grip and hisses, “Oi, I’ve kissed _tons_ of people.”

Yahaba fumbles with his deodorant, his eyes growing wide with interest.

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi asks, grinning. He pulls his shirt up above his stomach, unintentionally giving the room a clear view of his toned planes of his stomach, the ridges of Iwaizumi’s hipbones an obscene sight where they’re peeking out just below the band of his low-hanging sweatpants.  
Kyoutani ogles at the tanned skin, his eyes traveling along the dark smattering of hair just below Iwaizumi’s navel as his throat goes dry. He hears Kindaichi squeak next to him, the two of them wearing matching expressions of shame as they tear their gazes away.

“Then why are you so _shitty_ at it?” Iwaizumi teases.

For a moment, Oikawa’s stunned into silence. His brows pull together then pull apart again. “W-when have we ever…”

Iwaizumi snickers. “You really don’t remember? I’m wounded, really.”

“Oh, what’s this about a kiss?” Hanamaki inquires. He looks at Matsukawa. “Do you know what they’re talking about?”

“Dunno.” Matsukawa props a hand on his hip and slurs, “S’news to me.”

“When did we—?” Oikawa demands. Slowly, realization dawns on his face. “We were eight! That doesn’t count, you ass!” He juts out his chin and holds his head high as he proudly announces, “I’ve improved my technique since then. _Mastered it_ , some might say.”

“Sure. If they’d hit their heads on something hard,” Iwaizumi quips, nodding in sympathy.

Indignant, Oikawa turns around and jabs a finger at Matsukawa. “Mattsun, settle this for us. Which of us is the better kisser?” He gestures between Iwaizumi and himself.

By now, their conversation’s caught the attention of everyone else in the locker room.

As if enjoying the sudden tension in the room, Matsukawa deliberately takes his time before answering. He twists the towel draped around his shoulders, his finger tapping against his chin as he hums obnoxiously. “Best kisser, eh?”

Oikawa nods. “Now I _know_ I’m your captain, and you don’t want to hurt my feelings, but—”

“Hajime,” Matsukawa interrupts, his lips curving in a sly grin. “Definitely Hajime.”

Hanamaki makes a noise of agreement, his hands shoving down the insides of his skirt, something Hanamaki usually does when he’s wearing shorts. 

“Wha??” Oikawa’s mouth hangs open unattractively. He looks like the ground’s been ripped out from underneath him.

“Sorry, captain,” Matsukawa says with a half-shrug, not looking the least bit apologetic. “But out of the four of us, Hajime’s _easily_ the best kisser.”

Hanamaki scoffs and clutches at his chest. “Oi, easily?”

Kyoutani’s heart flutters furiously at the bright smile on Iwaizumi’s face as Iwaizumi crouches down next to Oikawa whose clutching at his own knees. “There, there,” Iwaizumi simpers, his face red from stifling his laughter. He pats Oikawa on the back. “At least you still have your personality.”

Iwaizumi pauses, amends with a smirk, “Mm, maybe not. Your good looks? No, that’s not it either…”

Oikawa mutters something in his defense as Matsukawa and Hanamaki crow with laughter, but Kyoutani’s hardly paying attention anymore, too busy contemplating his own existence and this new information:

_Iwaizumi’s a good kisser._

The best in his year, apparently.

Kyoutani stares resolutely into the locker in front of him, his face heating as he tries to pretend like he’s not having a damn crisis over this.

It shouldn’t even come as a surprise at this point—Iwaizumi’s the best at everything else he does, of course he’d be at good at this, too. He’d expect no less from Seijou’s incredible ace. 

Kyoutani’s thudding his head against his locker door when he hears some call from outside the room, “Ay, Mad Dog, you comin’?” It’s only then that he realizes the rest of his teammates have already deserted the room. Exactly how long has he been standing there, motionless? Fuck.

“Yeah.” Kyoutani grits, grimacing at the stupid nickname Oikawa’s inflicted on him that’s apparently caught on. “I’ll be right out.”

As he huffs and rubs his sweaty palms against his uniform shorts, Kyoutani thinks, _Get a goddamn grip. Now’s not the time to be getting distracted by shit like one-sided crushes._ With a quiet cuss, Kyoutani slams his locker door shut behind him and takes off to join the rest of his teammates on the court.

 

Kyoutani doesn’t hold anything back during that day of training practice. Restless energy thrums through him, his nerves on edge as his narrowed eyes track the movements of the ball.

“Here it comes!”

Kyoutani goes for it. He doesn’t wait for any kind of signal from Oikawa. Instead, he runs in from the side, nearly crashing into Kindaichi as he leaps up and attacks the ball with the full force of his body. His body snaps forward, pure raw strength pulsing beneath his fingertips when his open palm collides with the ball. He staggers back a few paces from the impact, his shoes skidding against the gym floor as his look on with varied expressions of wariness, annoyance and awe, but Kyoutani doesn’t give a damn. He’s in his _zone_.

“Nice one, Mad Dog-chan!” Oikawa says as he signals for a brief break. “But maybe try that again without taking your pent up…,” Oikawa smiles politely, “ _aggression_ out on the ball and your teammates?”

Mastukawa and Hanamaki snicker when Kyoutani deliberately turns his head away.

“Don’t ignore me!” Oikawa whines. “I’m your captain!”

“Careful, Mad Dog’s _especially_ rabid today,” Hanamaki croons.

When he still doesn’t get a response from Kyoutani, Oikawa sighs in defeat and claps his hands together to get the rest of team’s attention. “Alright everyone, let’s keep up the momentum!” And then Seijou’s herded back onto the court where the other team’s waiting for them.

“Oi, Kyoutani.”

Kyoutani whips around at the sound of his name. His stomach flips when he sees Seijou’s ace standing there behind him. “Iwaizumi.”

“Hey, listen to me; don’t pull any more dumbass stunts like that, okay? You’re gonna get yourself or someone else hurt,” Iwaizumi warns, his eyes clouded with concern.

Kyoutani nods stiffly. “Kay.”

Iwaizumi’s gaze sweeps over him as he takes a step forward. “You alright?” he inquires as he reaches a hand out. Iwaizumi’s suddenly standing too close, Kyoutani’s entire world narrowing down to the weight of Iwaizumi’s hand on his shoulder. “Seems like you’re wound up pretty tightly today.”

Kyoutani exhales sharply and shakes his head. He hopes that Iwaizumi doesn’t realize how hard his heart’s pounding. “M’fine, thanks.”

Satisfied, Iwaizumi grins and ruffles the short tufts of Kyoutani’s hair. “Alright just…don’t be reckless, yeah?”

There’s a good chance that Kyoutani’s gonna combust from this brief contact alone. Iwaizumi’s hand squeezes Kyoutani’s shoulder, a little harder than usual and Kyoutani has to bite down on his lip to restrain a groan. “I—yeah.” A flush colors his cheeks as Iwaizumi withdraws his hands and saunters back onto the court while Kyoutani stands there, frozen in place.

He’s completely and utterly fucked. It’s a damn wonder that he’d ever managed to convince himself otherwise.

“C’mon, Mad Dog! If you don’t get your ass over here soon, we’ll have you sitting out for the rest of the game.”

 

Kyoutani’s next spike is his most ferocious yet—this time he doesn’t land on his feet. His back hits the gym floor as the ball torpedoes through the air, everyone watching in stunned silence as when the ball crashes out of bounds, landing among the benches on the opposite side of the gym. Someone—their coach, or the other team’s coach—blows their whistle but Kyoutani doesn’t see who from where he’s lying.

_“Out!”_

~*~

That night when Seijou Shenanigans start up again and Seven Minutes in Heaven selected as the game, Kyoutani shocks and bewilders his teammates by silently squeezing in on the futon next to Watari and Yahaba in the circle. He’d probably be basking in some kind of satisfaction with their gasps and baffled stares if it wasn’t for the fact he’s already starting to regret his decision by the time he’s sat his ass down on the mattress. 

“Ah, looks like everyone’s in attendance for tonight’s fun,” Oikawa hums in approval. “See Mad Dog-chan, I told you you’d want to join in eventually!” 

Kyoutani bristles. His participation has _fuck all_ to do with Oikawa, and he has half a mind to return to his futon where it’s still pressed up against the wall but that would feel like a loss in its own way, too. So instead, he stubbornly stays in place as he bares his teeth in a snarl. 

“How’re we gonna pick who? Ya know, who’s paired with who?” Kindaichi asks. Kyoutani’s brow twitches in annoyance at the hesitant look Kindaichi sneaks in Iwaizumi’s direction. 

“One sec.” Matsukawa crouches and tugs his backpack closer to him and then starts rummaging through it until he finds what he was look for. “Ah, there we are. Might I recommend—” his thick brows lift as he pulls a bottle of sake from his bag. Excited whispers ripple through the room. “Sorry to disappoint, guys, but it’s empty. I snuck it from the coaches’ dining hall when I was helping them clean up.”

Kyoutani and his teammates groan in disappointment. 

His hand resting over his heart, Matsukawa theatrically declares, “Alas, as a mature, responsible senpai, I simply _can’t_ condone—”

Even Yahaba, who practically worships the third years, doesn’t like he’s buying it. 

“You’re full of shit, Mattsun,” Hanamaki snickers as he snatches the bottle from Matsukawa’s hands and sets it in the center of the circle. “Okay, fellas.” His eyes sweep the room, lingering on each person before moving to the next. Kyoutani squirms. “Any brave volunteers?”

 

“Well that was fun,” Hanamaki slurs when he and Matsukawa stumble out of the closet more than ten minutes later. The two of them make an incriminating picture: Hanamaki’s shirt’s rucked up, Mastukawa’s hair is noticeably disheveled, their eyes are glinting and their zippers are undone. It doesn’t take any stretch of imagination to figure out how they’d spent their time.

“A productive seven minutes,” Matsukawa hums as he smiles coyly. 

Iwaizumi makes room for them beside him on the futon. “That was _ten_ , dumbass,” he laughs. 

Oikawa’s lip curls into a pout as he folds his arms across his chest and sulks, “Oi, how come Mattsun keeps getting all the luck?”

Matsukawa steeples his hands beneath his chin. “Good karma?” 

As Iwaizumi snorts derisively, Hanamaki cuts in with, “And it’s….Yahaba’s turn next!” 

Yahaba nods, his brown eyes narrowed in concentration as he combs his fingers through his admittedly luscious and well-groomed hair. The room falls quiet again, everyone watching in apprehension as Yahaba scooches forward into the very middle of the circle, his delicate-looking fingers wrapping loosely around the base of the bottle. He crooks his wrist, setting the sake bottle sailing in a circle. Kyoutani can practically hear him willing it to be Oikawa. 

The bottle spins and spins before finally stuttering to a halt in front of a sheepish Kindaichi. 

“Well there ya have it,” Hanamaki says, rubbing his palms together as Yahaba and Kindaichi dutifully rise from their places in the circle. “Don’t do anything your senpais wouldn’t,” he adds with a wink.

The two of them slowly make their way to the closet, Yahaba’s eyebrows pulling together like he’s overthinking things, Kindaichi nearly trips over his own feet as the two accidentally brush shoulders. And then the seven minute countdown begins again. 

Kyoutani’s chest contracts when he glances down at the now-empty space beside him and realizes it’s his turn next. _There’s still time to back out_ , he reminds himself. Of course, Oikawa would throw a fit, and the rest of the team would never let him it down but he could, technically, still retreat to the corner of the room with a minuscular shred of his dignity still intact. 

Kyoutani angrily chews on the inside of his cheek as he mulls over his equally suck-y options. 

_The **hell** was he even thinking when he’d agreed to this? _

As if in answer, Iwaizumi sags back against the wall and folds his arms behind his head; his shirt riding up just enough to expose a tanned strip of skin. Kyoutani catches himself staring, yet again, as arousal begins to pool low in his gut. He absently traces his tongue along the blunt edges of his teeth. 

_Oh. Right, **that’s** why. _

Because having to spend the week with other bored, horny, keyed up teenagers has started to get to him.

Because he’s an idiot who apparently lets his dick do the decision making. 

Too soon (exactly seven minutes later, according to Watari who’d been keeping the time on his watch), Kindaichi and Yahaba return from the closet and take their seats on the futons again. Neither of them look like they’ve been kissing and if Kyoutani wasn’t distracted by his own imminent doom, he’d be making clucking noises at the both of them. 

“Mad Dog-kun~,” Oikawa sings, prompting Kyoutani to fantasize about punching him in his pretty mouth. “You’re up next!” 

Kyoutani sits there, unmoving. His heart grinds to a hard stop as his eyes fix upon the empty sake bottle. Fuck. There’s really no getting out of this, anymore. He has to stand by his dumbass decision. 

“Cold feet?” Hanamaki taunts. 

“Fuck off, I’m goin’,” Kyoutani barks, his cheeks flaming as he shifts onto his hands and knees. He stretches out his arm and shoves at the bottle, spinning it harder than he’d meant to. 

While Kyoutani may be shit at math, but he knows his odds aren’t great—he has just as much chance of ending up having to spend seven long minutes in an intimately enclosed space with fucking Oikawa as he does with Iwaizumi. It could be worse, Kyoutani supposes. Oikawa’s lips look always look soft and smooth, thanks to the chapstick he’s always wearing, and the whole pretty boy thing isn't really Kyoutani’s type but—Kyoutani’s lips shrivel in a frown as he shakes his head furiously to dispel the thought. 

_Don’t be Oikawa, don’t be Oikawa, **don’t be Oikawa.**_

Kyoutani watches, his pulse spiking as the bottle slowly comes to a rest.

“…Oh,” Kyoutani croaks, his voice strangled as his wide eyes snaps up to meet Iwaizumi’s. He fidgets, frown deepening at the expectant stares focused on him. He can almost feel the way everyone’s waiting for Kyoutani to object, for him to come up with some half-assed excuse and storm off in a huff. The first and second years exchange a look, but Kyoutani’s still focused on Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi’s face is practically inscrutable, there’s a slight flush across his high cheekbones. Kyoutani supposes it’s almost victory in itself that the unfairly attractive upperclassman isn't gagging at the prospect of being trapped in a closet with him. He’s still holding Iwaizumi’s gaze as Kyoutani stands and pushes off from the futon.

“You comin’?” Kyoutani mutters, finally diverting his gaze as he reaches a hand up to sheepishly scratch at the back of his neck. 

“Careful, _Iwa-chan_ ,” Hanamaki purrs as he slings an arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “This one bites.”

Kyoutani’s got an itching suspicion that Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s cruel streak might have something to do with the fact he’d suggested earlier that year that the third years had no business being on the team after their pitiful defeat to Shiratorizawa. It’s a _possibility._

“I can handle myself fine,” Iwaizumi retorts easily, his lips cracking into a smirk as he shrugs Hanamaki’s arm off his shoulder. 

Hanamaki flashes Iwaizumi a Cheshire smile as he teases, “If only our beloved captain was as good at keeping him in line, eh?” 

“It’s the biceps he respects,” Matsukawa says sagely. 

Kyoutani’s face burns even hotter than before. 

Oikawa squawks. “Excuse you! Mad Dog-chan respects me plenty!” 

“Oi, I’m right fucking _here_ , you guys,” Kyoutani growls as he shoves his hands in his pockets. 

Iwaizumi winces. “Shit, sorry. Ignore them, they’re just being dumbasses,” he says, voice fond even as he swats at Hanamaki and Matsukawa who bury their faces against each other’s collar, their shoulders shaking with laughter as they cling to each other in an attempt to dodge Iwaizumi’s attacks. 

Satisfied that Hanamaki and Matsukawa have been properly scolded; Iwaizumi shoots them a final warning look before turning to Kyoutani again. He stands, his smile uncharacteristically shy as he smooths his thumb across his lower lip. 

“Lead the way?” Iwaizumi suggests as he gestures over to the closet. 

Kyoutani swallows back against the large lump in his throat and jerks his head in a nod. “Kay.” 

~*~

“Kentarou.” Kyoutani startles at the sound of his own name rolling off Iwaizumi’s tongue. He looks up sharply, his eyes lifting to meet Iwaizumi’s only to remember that they’re both shrouded by darkness. If he squints and concentrates hard, his eyes can make out the familiar shape of Iwaizumi’s broad shoulders, the divot of his collar, the hard lines of his jaw, the slope of his nose. He looks away again, wonders if Iwaizumi could feel Kyoutani’s gaze on him. “I can practically _hear_ you panicking, y’know.”

“M’ _not_ ,” Kyoutani barks back, because he isn’t. 

Sure, his palms are clammy with sweat where they’re still bunched into fists in his pockets, and yeah, his stomach’s been tying itself into knots as he’d fixated on the quiet, even sound of Iwaizumi’s breathing, but that doesn’t _mean_ —

Fine, Kyoutani begrudgingly admits to himself, he’s sorta nervous. In his defense, he’s never kissed anyone before. But now, here he is, trapped in a cramped, enclosed space with _Iwaizumi Hajime_. It’s like a wet dream come true, only he can’t seem to bring himself to actually reach out and do anything. 

“Hey, it’s just a stupid game. Fuck what anyone’s expecting, if you’re uncomfortable, we don’t gotta—”

Nono _no_. “I _want_ to,” Kyoutani answers hastily, too honestly, his face heating in humiliation as he chews at the inside of his cheek. Oh, god. Iwaizumi’s standing close enough that he can probably feel the heat radiating off Kyoutani’s face in waves. “Uhh, I mean…”

“Oh?” Iwaizumi ventures. Amusement creeps into his voice and Kyoutani can picture him clearly, the way his thick brows have probably shot up into his hairline.

Kyoutani clears as throat as he wracks his mind in search of any even remotely plausible excuse that might save his ass.

“S’it true that you’re the best kisser on the team?” Kyoutani demands, because he’s never once seen Seijou’s ace back down from a challenge (or lose one, which is at least half the reason Kyoutani found himself with this disastrous crush on him in the first place). 

“Eh? Oh. O _hh_ , that. That was just Hanamaki and Mastukawa fucking around, they didn’t—”

“Well I’m _better_ ,” Kyoutani stubbornly continues. 

“….at?” 

“Kissing.” 

It’s a bluff, and really transparent one at that. His only experience with kissing so far’s been the embarrassing pecks on the cheek from his parents, but Iwaizumi really doesn’t need to know that. 

“Oh.” It takes a moment for Kyoutani’s words to register. The air between them turns charged, electricity rippling through the room as Iwaizumi shifts forward, causing their arms to brush. Kyoutani’s skin prickles with goosebumps when he feels Iwaizumi’s warm breath against the shell of his ear. "Yeah, s’that so? You _still_ feel like you’ve got somethin’ to prove, huh?” 

Kyoutani’s chest swells at the fondness in Iwaizumi’s voice. His own voice having abandoned him, Kyoutani grunts in affirmation. 

“Alright, c’mere then,” instructs Iwaizumi. “Show me.” 

At this point, Kyoutani only has blurry idea of where exactly ‘here’ is, but whatever. Without hesitance, he obediently launches himself in Iwaizumi’s general direction, effectively pinning the older boy against one of the shelves. Nobody ever tells you as much—but it’s goddamn _difficult_ kissing in the dark. It takes him an awkward moment of fumbling, his hands smoothing over Iwaizumi’s collar, palm lifting to the side of Iwaizumi’s neck before he lands his first clumsy kiss on the corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth. When Iwaizumi chuckles softly, Kyoutani can feel the vibrations of it against his own chest. 

Undeterred, Kyoutani finally crushes their lips together. Iwaizumi lets Kyoutani shove him back against the wall and lets Kyoutani fist his hand in the fabric of his shirt as he kisses the older boy with bruising force. _Kissing_ , Kyoutani assumes, is like playing volleyball: it only feels good when you’re putting all your strength behind it. His kisses are rushed and rough and starved as he groans against Iwaizumi’s parted lips. As their mouths meet in a clash of tongue of teeth, Kyoutani considers that maybe he’s not as shitty at this as he thought he would be, that is until Iwaizumi breaks the kiss a moment later, nipping Kyoutani’s lip hard enough to capture Kyoutani’s attention. 

“Well you, uh, definitely have the enthusiasm down,” Iwaizumi murmurs over Kyoutani’s lips. Okay, maybe Kyoutani’s exactly as shitty as he thought he’d be. Iwaizumi hums and traces his thumb along the contour of Kyoutani’s ear, his voice teasing when he remarks, “But you know, for Seijou’s best kisser, you’re kinda shit at it.” 

Kyoutani tenses, his lips twisting in a scowl as he folds his arms across his chest. It’s stupid to be defensive about it when he knows it’s the truth but he still wants to fight it out of instinct, wants to lean in and press his lips to Iwaizumi’s again, wants to prove he’s _worthy_ of Iwaizumi’s time—

“You’ve never kissed anyone before, have you?” Iwaizumi asks, his voice cutting through Kyoutani’s thoughts. 

“I—shut up,” Kyoutani grumbles, petulant. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Iwaizumi soothes as he presses forward an inch. “Kissing’s like anything else, y’know? It just takes a little practice. Or I guess a _lot_ , in some cases.” The older boy takes another step forward, this time crowding Kyoutani against the shelf, his knee slotting between Kyoutani’s thighs, his strong arms braced on either side of him. “It _should_ feel like this.”

Kyoutani’s breath leaves his lungs in a _whoosh_. His spirit’s no longer occupying his body; it’s already drifted onto the afterworld as Iwaizumi fits his mouth over Kyoutani’s. 

It’s nothing at all like the previous kisses they’d shared: Iwaizumi goes slow, at first, each brush of his lips against Kyoutani’s a frustrating, gentle tease. Iwaizumi actually knows what he’s doing, Kyoutani realizes, his breath hitching when Iwaizumi hooks his fingers under Kyoutani’s jaw and coaxes them into a steady, languid rhythm, their lips sliding together and then parting again as they pant against each other’s mouths. 

“Mm, just like that,” Iwaizumi encourages in the same tone he might use if he instructing Kyoutani on how to improve his receives. “See, you’re getting the hang of it.” 

Kyoutani jolts like he’s been shocked, the praise sending bolts of pleasure down his spine, straight to his cock as Iwaizumi’s tongue flicks across his lower lip. His fingers fist in Iwaizumi’s hair, his lashes fluttering as Iwaizumi nips and licks at his lips until they’re swollen and tingling. “You’re—ah, _fuck_ —you’re shorter than I thought,” Kyoutani says between heated kisses as he touches his forehead against Iwaizumi’s. 

Iwaizumi scoffs. He catches Kyoutani’s lip between his teeth, this time drawing a noisy inhale from Kyoutani when Iwaizumi bites down gently and says, “Oi, m’taller than _you_.” 

“Yeah, but _I’m growing_ ,” Kyoutani points out, smug at having found at least one area where he exceeds Iwaizumi. In more ways than one, he notes, the small room overheating when Iwaizumi’s thigh brushes unconsciously against the hard-on Kyoutani’s been sporting since this first started. Oh god. Their bodies are pressed flushed together, his hardness rubbing against Iwaizumi’s hip but if the older boy notices, he’s at least polite enough not to mention it. 

“S’better with less talking,” Iwaizumi advises. 

“Then give me somethin’ better to do,” Kyoutani hisses back. Impatient, he surges forward and cups Iwaizumi’s face in his hands, dragging him into another searing kiss. Iwaizumi groans, deep and guttural, more gratifying than anything Kyoutani could have imagined as Kyoutani tilts his jaw and turns the kiss into something deeper. 

“ _Slow_ , remember,” Iwaizumi’s says, his voice strained as he rakes his nails down the arch of Kyoutani’s back, hard enough that Kyoutani can feel the press of Iwaizumi’s fingers through the fabric of his shirt. But Iwaizumi soon forgets his own advice, the broken noises he’s making lost between the passes of lips and teeth, the two of them grappling for each other in the dark as Iwaizumi kisses Kyoutani with the same ferocity he’d scolded the younger boy for only minutes ago. It’s intense and sloppy and fucking perfect when the two of them trade wet, open mouthed kisses until their lips raw and sore, until their lungs burn as they’re forced to pull apart for air. 

They both lean in at the same time, their foreheads knocking together in their eagerness. Iwaizumi lets out a muffled laugh against the nape of Kyoutani’s neck, his lips working their way down Kyoutani’s jaw, his chin, his throat as his Kyoutani makes hitched, pitiful noises that he’ll later kill deny making if anyone asks him about it. In the back of Kyoutani’s mind, he’s vaguely aware of the fact he’s running out of time, that neither of them’s got any idea how many minutes have passed since they entered the closet together. 

Experimentally, Kyoutani smooths his hands his hands down over Iwaizumi’s shoulders, his fingers slowly drifting lower, his touch curious and bold as he charts a path from Iwaizumi’s collar to the dip of his hips. “F-fuck, Hajime,” Kyoutani says, a high, heady whine ripped from his throat at the first scrape of teeth against his neck. “ _Please_.” 

It’s the adrenaline talking, making him wonder if he could get off on that alone, making him forget why that’d be a colossally bad idea with his friends standing guard outside the room. His heads swimming, sweat beading on his forehead as he reaches out his hands to balance himself on Iwaizumi’s forearms. 

“Kentarou—”

Kyoutani never gets to hear whatever Iwaizumi was gonna say because it’s then that they both hear someone rap their knuckles against the door. “Alright, enough’s enough, you two! Other people would like to take their turns,” Oikawa complains from the other side of the closet. 

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi breathes. He slumps forward, his head dropping against Kyoutani’s shoulder.

Kyoutani doesn’t have the strength to move as he feels Iwaizumi disentangle from him. He misses the warm immediately when Iwaizumi steps back and reaches for the handle. 

“We should, uh—”

“Yeah,” Kyoutani agrees as he reaches his hand up, fingertips tracing over his own lips to inspect the abused skin. “After you.” 

He can feel the way Iwaizumi hesitates, one hand hovering on the doorknob in a question, his other hand sifting through the short tufts of Kyoutani’s hair. 

The door creaks open, a splinter of light seeping through as Iwaizumi leans back in Kyoutani’s space again. 

Breath still ragged and uneven, Kyoutani tells him, “M’gonna beat you at something, eventually, y’know.” 

“Maybe,” Iwaizumi agrees, his callused thumb tracing a path along the line of Kyoutani’s jaw, “with enough practice.” 

Iwaizumi ducks down and plants a final kiss to Kyoutani’s parted lips and then he’s gone, leaving Kyoutani all alone in the closet with his own hammering heart and his confused boner. Kyoutani sighs and thuds his head back against the closet shelf. In the darkness, he grins, guileless and elated. He may have lost to Iwaizumi yet again, but he can’t help feel triumphant, especially when he hears Mastukawa’s voice a moment later yelling, “ _Mad Dog, you asshole! What the hell did you do in there with our ace_?”

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumber](http://www.tobioslilgiant.tumblr.com) **l** [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/ambyguity_)


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